


Biting Worry

by Rosehip



Series: Ceilidh Tabris: Otherwise [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Implied/Referenced BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Ceilidh Tabris awakes to an empty house. What is Zevran up to, this time? Please let it not be more Crows. (It is not more Crows.)





	Biting Worry

**Author's Note:**

> This, like many planned works in this series, is the result of a tumblr prompt. The question was: "27) Who orders take out at two in a morning? and who wakes the other up at three in the morning to go downstairs with them to get a glass of water because it’s too dark? (For Macsen/Zevran or Ceilidh/Zevran?)"

Ceilidh awoke alone, as she sometimes did even now that she and Zev finally lived in the same place, again. The Crows had been quiet for a few days, but that didn’t still the thrum of unease that moved through her. She knew perfectly well that things were probably fine. They both suffered from nightmares and insomnia. It could just as easily have been her, downstairs in the kitchen of their tiny, cheap, Antivan townhouse, pacing or drinking- biding time til morning or drowsiness, whichever came first.

But for all that Zevran moved like a ghost, Ceilidh could tell the house was _empty._ She could feel the solitude. It weighed more than silence that contained someone else. Where did he go?! Probably nowhere. It was a selfish and reckless thought while they dealt with this much danger, but she wished their daughter were here, killing this uneasy silence, instead of visiting uncle Alistair, safe in Ferelden.

Ceilidh dressed. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword. A thought came to her. _I cannot bite worry._ She always thought the strangest things when she first touched Vigilance. She wondered about that. And she was _not,_ on second thought, going to carry a possibly-haunted dragon sword downstairs when she was probably just being ridiculous.

She grabbed a couple of daggers, instead, and went to wait in the kitchen.

She lit a lamp dimly, more for the homeyness of it than the need for light. No elf minded low light. She drew water and made a pot of chicory, which Zevran still teased her about. _You have tasted real coffee and you still favor its bumpkin cousin? Tch._ Paranoid berzerkers did _not_ need whatever the fuck coffee did to her nerves.

The cream danced in swirly clouds within her mug when the door creaked open. Ceilidh squeaked.

A familiar shadow glided into the room with a huge basket balanced on one hip. “Ah, Amore! Your timing is perfect. I do wonder, however, did you plan to stab your mug, or me?”

Ceilidh looked down to see she had drawn a dagger. She hadn’t known that. She huffed in frustration and relief, shoved it back in the holster, and shot Zevran a fierce glare. “You, the next time you don’t leave me a note, asshole.”

Zev set the basket on their small table and locked the door again. “Ahhh, I did not think! You may punish me for it if you like, Warden. He slid gracefully to his knees, took her hand to kiss, and stared up at her through his perfect, pale, completely _unfair_ lashes.

“I’m tying you to the bed tomorrow, just so you know.” Ceilidh scowled down at him but soon lost her composure to a fit of relieved laughter.

“An excellent plan!” Zevran sprang to his feet. “But perhaps I may earn your forgiveness yet, this evening? Look what I have!” He pulled several cloth-wrapped, steaming bundles out of the basket and arranged them on the table.

“You brought back… breakfast?” Ceilidh marveled as he unwrapped some gorgeous, warm, apricot pastries. “But it’s… what is it, two hours past midnight?”

Zevran grinned like a carefree child as he displayed some kind of pie. “I knew you would wake soon, no? And see? I am correct. You have a twitch in your eyebrow that gives you away when your sleep is not so deep. I knew also that a certain street of bakers would be hard at work by now, and one of them owed me a small favor pertaining to an unwanted suitor I pitched into the fountain last week. I collected in the form of this fine spinach and feta calzone.” He also produced Ceilidh’s favorite spiced pear tart and bacon.

His mood spread to Ceilidh and her worry blew away like fog. “We don’t still have to feed the army, you know.”

“No, just one Grey Warden with a tendency to worry about others more than herself.” He winked.

“Oh, yeah. I’m still punishing you,” Ceilidh said as she grabbed a piece of bacon.

“But of course.”


End file.
